


Gambit

by DemiCatra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christian Louboutin, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Foursome - F/F/M/M, High Heel Fetish, High Heels, I'll update these as needed?, M/M, Multi, POV Pansy Parkinson, Polyamory, Quad, Should I tag the other relationship combos?, Someone tell me please, Stilettos abound, Two timelines, Underage Drinking, a very brief mention thereof, altocalciphilia, work shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiCatra/pseuds/DemiCatra
Summary: Hermione Granger has a heel fetish and is in need of release. What else were her partners to do?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson/Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: 2020Kinktober





	1. Commission

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So when I started with this plunny I had no idea it would snowball this hard. That said, I finally have come to the realization that there’s no way I can feasibly write this entire piece in one night. I have two chapters that I’ll post today and my goal is to get another two up by the weekend. This story has not hit its E rating yet, but it certainly will. There’s a taste of our kink so far though the smut portion of it will come in a later chapter. 
> 
> I have a rough skeleton for this story in its entirety (which is more than I can say for my two other lengthy pieces, one of which is entirely unposted.) I’ve started the next chapter and I’ve reached out to my beta who I’m hoping might also be willing to alpha for me as well. (: Sorry this is unfinished but I truly expected this to be a one-shot when I sat down to write earlier! (Bear in mind with Chapter Two that Pansy is an immature teenager and, thus, her age shows in her viewpoints and knowledge.)
> 
> A WIP for the 2020 Kinktoberfest! My assigned kink was altocalciphilia.

Pansy stepped into her charcoal pantsuit, heedless of the chill in the air around her from the coming autumn as she readied for her shift at the Ministry that morning. The last to leave the Manor that day, Pansy smirked wryly, knowing what was in store for the most uptight‑‑and tightly wound as of late‑‑of their Bonded that day. 

She swept her hair up into its usual chignon, locking it into place with a silent _capilli mansi._ Pansy then grabbed a lock of her hair with her wand at her left temple and pulled it from the bun, curling it lightly as it trailed from her wand.

Even with all of their connections, it had taken weeks to pin down Christian Louboutin. The wizard and his designs were renowned throughout the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, though he had been designing for the Parisian Place Cacheé for far longer than he had been partnered with Charles Jourdan. In the end, it had taken Elora Zabini owling the man to be able to get in touch.

Now she, Draco, and Blaise were the proud new owners of a three of a quartet of stilettos, each unique to them.

Of the four pairs of stilettos, one would go to Hermione, but only Christian Louboutin knew their form to date. They had provided him with a list of Hermione’s preferences and left him to it.

Hers were simple: an emerald green peep-toe with a ribbon-esque vamp that twisted upon itself. Each of the boys had asked for a pair of platforms to her astonishment, and there was, truly, nothing simple about them or the way they would look in them.

Draco had opted for a classic black pair; though, there was nothing classic in their design. Even she, who only had what she considered to be an average amount of interest in heels for a stereotypical Pureblood heiress, found herself getting lost in the maze of gladiator straps that adorned the platforms from toe to ankle. And, Merlin and Circe abound, but did he not look mouthwatering in them. 

She had seen it already, for he had been home with her when the owl had arrived with their shrunken package. Blaise had taken Hermione to the Ministry library, using their combined clout to get them access to the Unspeakable section.

Blaise was an Unspeakable himself and liaison to the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Further, the department had yet to give up hope of recruiting Hermione away from the DRCMC.

Patterson, really; it was just Patterson the chief of the department who still deluded himself. Nevertheless, he had granted Blaise permission to bring Hermione into their heavily prized and warded collection so she could do further research for her upcoming Werewolf Rights Bill. Hermione had nearly drooled when she found out.

Blaise, in turn, had elected to commission a different sort of heel.

Pansy snorted at the thought of the mental portrait he painted in his heels and nothing else. Oh, yes, Granger would be most certainly taken in by that image. He would be lean and long, with his defined abs and tight, pert ass, lifted sky-high and rounded beautifully, put on display in his Ravenclaw-blue platform boots. She felt herself getting wet at the thought, her nipples tightening ever so slightly. 

Pansy let out a sigh and closed her eye momentarily, pocketing her wand as she drew in a calming breath and shifted her work-inappropriate reactions and thoughts to a box in the back of her mind for later.

Slipping into her emerald heels, she had the fleeting thought that it never failed to amaze her just how comfortable Louboutin’s magical line of heels actually were. She’d kill to know what charms he’d invented and combined to achieve such an effect.

Grabbing her department regulation chocolate-coloured robes and slinging them over a shoulder, Pansy glanced at herself in the full-length mirror. Not for the first time, she was grateful that she worked in a department where they wore chocolate robes and not the scarlet of the Aurors, the tangerine of Accidents and Catastrophes or the awful chartreuse of Magical Transportation.

With a feral grin--Granger wouldn’t know what had hit her--she _popped_ away to the Apparition Room of the Ministry.


	2. Yule Ball Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a reminder that Pansy is a teenager here/in her Fourth Year!

Pansy was perplexed.

The girl had been subtle about it, in spite of her Gryffindor background--and Gryffindors, Pansy felt, were generally rather boorish or awkward in their actions. But in watching her throughout the night, Pansy had started to catch on to something. What it was, she wasn’t sure yet, but she’d figure it out. In the meantime, it needled continuously at the back of her brain as she stared.

Granger. 

There was something... _elegant_ about her, somehow. 

Pansy abhorred it. 

She loathed the way that the corners of the girl’s eyes would tighten ever so imperceptibly. That slight intake of breath she would suddenly, briefly inhale, causing her to freeze for a moment. The stuttered exhale that blew the delicate wisps of her curls that had sprung free of their imprisonment into an ephemeral frenzy. The wide grin of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth with no hint of a glamour that would follow. The tilt of her head that might give. The way Granger’s eyes would darken and dilate. The manner in which her nostrils would flare. 

And, _oh_ , how Pansy hated it. She hated how she couldn’t look away from it all. She hated that she didn’t want to. 

The girl was a Mudblood! And a swot at that! A Mudblood swot! _Salazar!_

 _Witch_?

 _Wizard_?

_What was it?_

It didn’t matter. All gender presentations, femme, masculine, androgynous, they all seemed to set it off. Though there was a type it seemed. All were willowy or wiry, though not necessarily lacking in strength or stature. Graceful and serene. Though not all set off the inhale or flare. Not a single person who did seemed to be of the stocky, yet athletic persuasion of which Krum was a sort.

No.

So, what was it? 

Pansy fumed silently behind her emotional mask from her corner table for half the ball, watching the fae-like beauty‑‑ _and who would have thought she’d ever be comparing Granger to the Tuatha de Danann‑-_ flit from group to group on the arm of her supposed paramour. Granger danced with them all, no matter their gender, House, or school-affiliation before it dawned on her. 

Resting her head lightly on clasped hands to mask her thoughts, Pansy moued her lips in contemplation.

_Well then…_

She flitted her eyes between the last few people to make Granger hesitate. 

There it was. 

On all of them, every single one.

They were all wearing stilettos.

_Little Miss Golden Girl has fetish. How gauche!_

A light giggle escaped her lips. Perhaps the pumpkin juice had been spiked after all.

Secretly though, Pansy found herself intrigued.

She wanted to know more and she wanted to be the one to cause that reaction in Granger, regardless of the fact that she never had before. Oh, sure, she had fancied girls in the past. The first time she’d kissed another girl had been on a dare one evening in the Common Room. But since then, she’d made out with Daphne Greengrass and Cho Chang. Nothing lasting had sprung from either exchange. Only fantasies remained from them. This, fancying Granger, that was a surprise even to her. Half the students from all three schools present seemed enthralled with Granger tonight, however. Ergo, Pansy surmised she was in good company with at least some of them.

She hated it, sure. Circe save her, it was _Granger_.

But the girl was gorgeous, it turned out, blood-status aside. Plus, Pansy knew from the past three and a half years that the girl was incredibly keen and bold. Both things she found attractive, unfortunately for her in this case.

Pansy truly despised everything right now, melodramatic as she knew she would find herself at a later date.

But this! OH! Pansy was going to find a way to use this to her advantage one way or another.

Mind set, she settled back into her seat with her drink, alcoholic in nature she was sure now, and watched.


	3. Goblins, Centaurs, and Billywigs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part One of our Ministry scene. I was hoping to get to the start of the explicit section in this chapter, but when I hit Pansy's conversation in her office, and was nowhere near the end of the chapter, I figured I should find a cut-off point, lol. 
> 
> 15 is an approximate guess for the number of chapters, as a side note. We might end up with more or less depending on how the story flows!
> 
> Also, I couldn't resist the inclusion of the Billywig gif from FBAWTFT.

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was chaotic on its best days. On its worst...well, on its worst Pansy wouldn’t wish it upon even her mother. 

She stood in the doorway of the open plan office for half a breath, a bit taken aback, despite having worked there for the last five years. This had to qualify for one of the most hectic days she had seen to date.

A shrunken old Japanese wizard, known for his odd breeding projects, sat in the visitor's chair by Rolf's desk to her immediate right. In his lap he held a wooden crate. Smoke was billowing from the holes on top and Pansy could hear insistent insectoid clicking and mammalian growls. 

She didn't want to know what the man had been breeding this time, intentional or not. She prayed to Circe and Morganna that the wood had been magically treated. If the old man hadn't purchased or created a crate meant to take fire or heat damage then it might end poorly for all in the vicinity. 

Across the room there were two Centaurs shouting at Tiberius Graves while he tried not to counter, his face a stony set. The chest of the male Centaur was growing increasingly redder with each second that passed and the female was pawing at the ground, arms crossed over her breasts, tail swishing rapidly back and forth.

From the other side of the office came an inhuman shriek as one goblin chased another, screaming, a wizard hot on their heels.

“Koggor! Bograk! That is a McGrath heirloom piece! It’s been in the family for five generations now! Give back what you stole from us!”

Pansy cocked an eyebrow as the apparent Koggor and Bograk bolted by her with a silver goblet and into a nearby supply closet, slamming the door in the face of their pursuer.

“Neka! Sha ye-a bloemvort!” yelled one gruff voice. “I will not! This piece is goblin-made and belongs to the Horde! The conscriptor died. It is ours. It comes back to us. Should have come back to use two generations ago when she died!” Came the muffled, gravely shout of a reply from the other. 

The wizard pounded on the door with his fist before trying to break it down using his shoulder, his wand forgotten, left behind on the desk. Across the room, Jaleesa Talbott was repeatedly letting her head fall against her desk.

A blue streak flashed past Pansy’s face then whirled around to come back in her direction. She could no more than widen her eyes a bit before there came a cry of, _“Immobulus!”_

A frozen Billywig dropped millimetres from her nose, bouncing off her chest on the way down to the floor.

The Billywig was scooped up by none other than their head of department, Newt Scamander.

“Sorry!” he crowed, not appearing the least bit contrite, a wide grin splitting his face. “Won’t happen again!”

Pansy was sure it would. But, amicable as he was, Newt was still her head. 

“Of course, Mr. Scamander,” she said to his back as he bolted back towards his office.

“It’s Newt!” he cried, sticking his head back out the door before shutting it.

Heaving a sigh, Pansy began to traverse the chaotic disarray of the room to where she shared an office with Lisa Turpin.

Lisa was kicked back, feet up on her desk, picking through a box of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans and very obviously listening to the mayhem out in the main office.

"Judging by the sound of ear-splitting levels of Gobbledegook and knocking on doors, I do believe that I just won five Galleons off of Goldstein. Tell me: are the Goblins holed up in the supply closet?"

Lisa grinned knowingly, then tossed a green-coloured bean in her mouth. 

"Ugh. Creamed spinach." Lisa gave a wince and swallowed heavily, already picking through the box again. 

"Why do you even bother with those things, Lis? You know you hate a good two-thirds of them."

"Novelty? Hope? Not sure, really." She held up an orange and red bean for inspection. "Do you think maybe this one is peach?" The woman inquired, ineffectually pushing a lock of her blonde bob behind her ear with one hand, holding the bean up for Pansy's appraisal with the other. "It's the same colours as those Muggle gummy-rings Matthew Spinner brought into the office last month. "

Pansy dropped into her chair, sitting her bag to the side. "Tangerine, probably. Though, also potentially vomit-flavoured. And yes, they are. Poor Jaleesa looks fit to try jumping out of the fake windows to end the frustration."

Satisfied, Lisa tossed the questionable candy into her mouth. "Definitely citrus based. And excellent; I haven't had a win over that man in the months. It's about time!"

Snorting rather indelicately--her mother would have been horrified-- Pansy began rifling through the papers of her inbox, searching. "Are the two of you ever going to shag and get it over with?"

"What's to say we aren't shagging already?" 

Lisa was now separating the beans into four piles: safe, potentially safe, scary, and _evanesco_ ; Pansy had watched this process before. She fixed Lisa with a droll stare until the other woman looked up from her task to her. 

"Oh, fine! Rowena's tits, Pans! We're not." She grumbled, followed by something else that was incoherent. 

"You do realize that I could cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a spoon? A _spoon_ , Turpin. Ask the man out already. He's past ready to move on from his end with Theo and he'll say yes to you. You have nothing to worry about."

“Sure. Nothing to worry about says the woman who’s already in a committed relationship. Says the woman who’s with three of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. You’ve it easy.”

Pansy gave a bark of laughter. 

“Easy?” She asked, trying not to laugh further, fingers now pressed against her lips to stifle it.

“Er, well--that is. I didn’t mean...not _then_! But, but now! You’re all settled and the entire British Wizarding community knows nothing is going to come between you lot!” Lisa’s cheeks burned with her blush. “You know...easy.”

“Sure, Lis.” Pansy grinned, shaking her head. With a roll of her eyes, she snapped up the form she had been looking for throughout the conversation. 

Pansy grabbed her bag and headed for the door. On her way over she paused by Lisa’s desk and pointed to a bean in the safe pile.

“You might want to rethink that green one with the blue and brown flecks. I’m pretty sure it’s pond scum.”

A faint _eep!_ was the only reply she received as she shut the door behind her.


	4. Base Alchemistry

_ Late, late, late, LATE! _

Hermione Granger hated being late. More than anything, she especially hated being late to class. 

Yet, here she was skidding around a dungeon corner into the potions classroom, five minutes late. Her hair was a fright that she’d corralled into a low messy bun, she was pretty sure the sweater she was wearing had a tea stain on it, and she’d barely remembered to grab her essay for Snape, doubling back just as she reached the portrait hole the first time to bolt back upstairs for it. It had been finished for days now, but he’d never accept late work from her; that was a certainty.

Huffing a deep sigh, Hermione collapsed on top of the stool as the worktable nearest the door next to Pansy Parkinson. Stellar, this was sure to be a wonderful lesson. Harry and Ron had claimed the seats at the table in front of them; most likely it had been the last table open when they had arrived, this side of the room was predominantly Slytherin.

Snape had already started the lecture and didn’t even pause to glance her way. Either she’d hear about her tardiness later, or he couldn’t be bothered to address it.

Bending over, Hermione reached into her bag to pull out a sheet of parchment for notes. She froze minutely; a blush began to creep up her neck. 

Parkinson had her legs crossed and Hermione could see from the fall of her robes that she was wearing heels. They were the same heels that Pansy had worn to the Yule Ball: black stilettos with a snake shaped, silver metal heel and an emerald green insole. Pansy let the pump on her right foot fall so that it was hanging from just her toes. Their insole matched the outer in hue, silky and viridian.

Hermione swallowed thickly and sat back up with her parchment. 

_ Why in God’s name is Parkinson wearing heels  _ to class? 

First it had been Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis in Transfiguration on Monday. Then Cho Chang as she passed the Gryffindor table on her way out of the Great Hall. All three girls had been wearing high heels on a school-day and decidedly out of uniform for it. Now,  _ Parkinson _ . What in God and Merlin’s name was going on lately?

Hermione still needed to retrieve her inkwell and quill. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Hermione closed her eyes, there was no way she could bend back over and keep a straight face. Absently, Hermione reached down for the strap of her bag to pull it up and into her lap. She did her utmost to appear as though she were listening to Professor Snape as if it were any other day.

She failed, apparently.

In the background, Snape continued to wax on...was it about Skele-Gro? Yes, it  _ must _ be. They had been instructed to research and write on the aquatic-base used for most standard, low-level Healing potions and how it compared with those that used an oil-base. Hermione had written an extra four inches describing those that used an alcoholic- or an acidic-base, as well.

She felt a cool hand rest across her wrist as it flailed around in the space between her and Parkinson, halting it in place against her thigh. Hermione tried to control the shiver that ran through her as goosebumps sprang up across her body, grateful that--tea-stained or not--she had worn the high-necked jumper with too-long sleeves over her uniform top that day.

“Merlin, Granger. The lecture isn’t that riveting." There was a shift from the body next to her. Abruptly, her bag landed in her lap. “Here.”

Cheeks crimson and unable to fully process what had just happened,  _ Had Parkinson actually deigned to touch her?  _ Hermione stiffly nodded her thanks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pansy smirk.

* * *

The cat that got the canary  _ and _ the cream. The Kneazle who had caught the elusive snidget. A Grindylow dropped into a barrel full of fish. That’s how Pansy felt right now. 

_ Oh, yes.  _ She had been so very right that night last month.  _ Granger definitely had a thing for heels.  _

Never once had the Gryffindor ever reacted to her presence with anything other than vitriol or annoyance. Not that she herself had acted any differently, mind. It just played a stark contrast to Granger’s responses from today.

At the moment, more than ten minutes had passed since the other girl had finally managed to fumble a quill and inkwell out of her schoolbag and she’d only jotted down three short and spiky notes.

Very unlike her usual self. Typically they all had to endure the constant sound of the scritching of the girl’s quill as she noted and annotated the entirety of the lecture they were being given. Pansy mentally snorted. Today? Not so much. 

Deliberately, the Slytherin girl uncrossed and recrossed her legs, making sure to allow each heel to tap against the floor in the process.

_ Tap,  _ went the first heel. Hermione stiffened again and stopped breathing; her eyes dilated, nearly obliterating her cognac pupils.

_ Tap,  _ went the next. At this Hermione breathed out shakily in a huff. The Gryffindor reached up and let her hair out of its hold. After she had run her fingers through the curls on each side, she gathered it back up into a low messy bun, gaze fixed on Snape.

Snape dismissed the class to gather the ingredients they would need to start brewing their base for the Skele-Gro they would be concocting in Double Potions that Friday. At this, the Gryffindor all but fled across the room to the storage cabinet.

Pansy grinned like a goblin that had just repossessed an ancient estate rife with their work. And she honestly couldn't care less who saw.


	5. Oh My!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter is a bit shorter than the others. I might expand upon it later in the form of a part two, posted as Chapter 6, before the next flashback. (TBD whether or not this happens...) Also, just a reminder that this fic is currently in the process of being beta'd! Please forgive me for any errors, etc. (:

Form of an excuse in hand, Pansy stalked across the room towards Hermione’s office. Along the way, she paused briefly at the refreshment counter to summon a chai almond milk latte for Granger and a double espresso for herself from the main café. After lifting a Kneazle kitten off of her paperwork, she picked the form and her purse back up, set the drinks to levitate along behind her--buffered with a charm to keep them from spilling--and continued on her way. When she reached her wife’s office, she didn’t even bother to knock and simply walked in.

Hermione was knelt upon the floor, paper after paper strewn out in concentric circles around. It was an organized chaos and unfathomable to anyone but her. A stack of books was present on the floor between the two bookshelves nearest the intent witch; a smattering of biros, Self-Inking quills, and highlighters rested in a small box beside her. To her right was a collection of diagrams, majorly hand-drawn. A miniature werewolf in wolf-form prowled in circles across the diagrams and notes to the bookshelves and back. Along the way, it would stop to stare at Granger, head cocked to the side; occasionally it would pause to sniff one spot or another.

Propped up on the lowest bookshelf beside Hermione, resting against the novels housed there, were no less than four different texts on werewolves, one on British Wizarding liturgical history, one on Muggle liturgical history in Britain and the States, and one on human rights. One of the werewolf texts was in Italian, a second German. Yet another held the sheen of a book currently under a translation spell of Hermione’s own devising--one that wouldn’t damage the physical work when used for prolonged periods. One need only get used to the slightly orange tint it afforded the work while it was in use in order to utilize it. 

Levitating in front of the woman was a fifth text. The phases of the moon were printed across the pages the witch had the book open to as she ran a finger down the contents of one of the footnotes, muttering softly to herself; her left hand scratching away blindly on a Muggle notepad laid across her thigh with a biro. 

Granger’s hair was in a high, slightly off-centre bun. The kinky-coily hair wrapped around itself and two more biros of different colours were shoved through. Their position served the double purpose of holding the bun fixedly in place and keeping her from losing track of them.

Across the space in the corner furthest from the door, the elderly office Kneazle and Crup were curled around one another in one of their pet beds. The fawn-coloured Crup was snoring softly. The Kneazle, a long-haired calico monstrosity that was reminiscent of Crookshanks in personality and really only liked Hermione, was staring daggers at Pansy, tail-tip twitching back and forth.

The former Gryffindor didn’t even hear Pansy enter the room.

Smiling fondly at the woman and the mess before her, Pansy sent the drinks to rest on Granger’s desk chair. It was the only unoccupied flat surface in the room.

Gingerly, she picked her way through the inevitable detritus of a Granger project over to her wife’s side. Pansy joined Hermione on the floor; softly, she reached out to tuck a wayward curl behind the other woman’s ear.

“Hello, love.” Pansy greeted her with a smile. “I brought your life’s-blood for you.” She jerked her head towards the desk chair. “Chai almond milk latte. Figured you’d need a caffeine refill and a break.”

Hermione held out a hand and the latte flew across the room and into her grip. She paused briefly to take a sip of her chai. “No time for a break, Pans. The Wizengamot hearing is in ten days.” Came the reply before she returned her attention to the illustrations and captions in front of her.

“Oh, I think you might make an exception.” Pansy’s smile widened into a grin. Hermione merely quirked an eyebrow in query and turned the page.

“The paperwork finally came through from the Unspeakables.”

Her wife’s head twisted in her direction so quickly, Pansy heard a faintly audible pop. “No!?”

“Yes, love.”

“Oh my God! Circe and Morganna be praised, _finally_!” Hermione leapt to her feet, flipping her notebook closed. After she had summoned her work, the werewolf miniature included, into her ever-present violet beaded bag, she grabbed Pansy’s hand, “Let’s go!”


End file.
